


The Boy Is Mine

by CumberChelz



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Cat Fights, Developing Relationship, Dominatrix, Drama, F/M, Hand Jobs, Other, Riding Crop, Romance, Sexual Humour, Sexually inexperienced Sherlock, There will be sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-11-07 02:31:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/425913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CumberChelz/pseuds/CumberChelz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Sherlolly romance but with a bit of trouble caused by THE WOMAN.</p><p>Set sometime after The Fall, Sherlock is living alone as John has married and moved out. He is irritated by the unwanted attention of the people around him, Mycroft in particular. Gradually he realises that he has 'feelings' for Molly and doesn't know what to do about them. Should he fend them off or give in? Irene makes an appearance which causes problems for Sherlock AND Molly! That's all I know, there is no plan, the story will develop as it goes on!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unwanted Visitor

**Author's Note:**

> Previously posted on FF.net but I moved due to the restrictions they want to impose on my creativity! (In other words I want to write hot sex and they might remove it if I do!) My first ever published fanfic, so hope you enjoy!
> 
> (oh and I'm also known as cumberseedybatch! ;) )

It had been three months since John had married and moved out of Baker Street. Sherlock was alone and for once in his life not enjoying the experience. He had grown accustomed to John’s presence, he was his best friend and although he did not want to give into sentimental feelings – he forced himself to admit that he missed him. They had been a team and their separation had left him feeling incomplete. Although John still helped on certain cases, he now had his own medical practice and was not the constant companion he once was.

Sherlock did not want anyone to know that he was constantly fighting the urge to surrender to any emotions but certain people were forcing him to work hard to maintain the subterfuge. At least it gave him something to do and stopped him from getting bored. Since John’s departure the flat had become a regular visitor attraction with Mrs Hudson regularly checking that he was eating, John who obviously felt guilty at deserting his former flatmate, Mycroft who was forever concerned about his younger brother’s welfare and occasionally Lestrade, mainly when they were working on a case. Even Molly had stopped by a few times for tea. Since she had helped Sherlock fake his own death, their relationship had changed somewhat. She was a little more relaxed around him, was able to hold a proper conversation without stuttering, but still had a tendency to make inappropriate jokes. Sherlock was glad that in that respect she had stayed the same because it was one of the things that endeared him to her and he didn’t want her to change too much.

Undoubtedly they were all concerned he might do something rash like turning back to substance abuse or shooting the wall because he was bored and no longer had John to stop him. But they were unaware that their seemingly unwanted attention was actually keeping Sherlock from turning to any vices. His mind was being kept busy coming up with different ways to insult each visitor (with varying severity depending on the recipient) and to appear as his usual obnoxious self. Mycroft understandably got the most venomous abuse because that was normal (for Sherlock) and that is how he wanted to appear.

“Sherlock! How are you?” Mycroft asked with forced cheeriness.

Sherlock was stretched out on the couch, hands resting on his chest, eyes closed. He did not respond to his brother’s greeting.

“Sherlock, I know you are awake. There is no use in pretending.”

Sherlock’s eyes opened and moved to view the figure standing at the door.

“I was hoping that if I ignored you for long enough you’d go away…”

“Well that is not going to happen Sherlock. You can’t fool me.”

“I did once.”

“Yes… you did. But it won’t happen again.”

“We’ll see… Well? What do you want?”

“I was just passing and thought I’d check in on you…”

“Don’t you have minions to do that for you? A network of spies? I thought you’d have increased surveillance on me since John left. Everyone is so concerned!”

“We are worried about you dear brother. John was… good for you. And now he’s gone…”

“Oh you think I’m going to go off the rails because I don’t have somebody to baby-sit me? Actually I was surprised you hadn’t offered Mrs Hudson the job, she’s the ideal choice.”

“Sherlock…”

“Ah… you did... but she turned you down.”

“She said you didn’t need me… interfering…”

“Good old Mrs Hudson. And yes, she does make sure the fridge is stocked without any incentive to do so from you…”

“Good… that’s good to know…”

Sherlock sat up properly on the couch, setting his bare feet down on the carpet. He sighed and looked disdainfully at his brother.

“Well are you going to stand there all day or aren’t you going to sit down? I am assuming that this isn’t a flying visit that you wish to bother me with some more idle conversation.”

Mycroft slowly moved over to one of the armchairs beside the fireplace and sat down, resting his umbrella against the side of the chair.

“Tea would be nice…”

“Yes, it would… You know where the kitchen is. There may be cakes in the cupboard, I’m sure Mrs Hudson bought those with you in mind as she knows that I won’t eat them. How is the diet by the way?” He smirked, knowing that it always irritated Mycroft each time he mentioned his infamous diet.

“It’s FINE!”

“Must be difficult having to put up with all those vegetables and no sugar muesli…”

“The details of my diet are of no concern of yours Sherlock!”

“But Mycroft, _dear brother_. I am merely concerned about _you_ , just as you are concerned about _me_ …” His words were laced with sarcasm, knowing that he had won the argument. “And I’m concerned that you have put weight on since I last saw you…”

“I have NOT. My dietician said…” He stopped himself mid-sentence, realising that he had been fooled yet again into divulging more information than he wished to.

“Oh you have a _dietician._ I shouldn’t be surprised that you’ve sought professional help…”

“I should have known that my visit would result in this petty bickering as always… I really don’t know why I bother…”

“Because you feel responsible for ensuring my welfare?” Sherlock sneered, his nose twitching slightly. “That you would be consumed by guilt if anything were to happen to me? Will you ever stop interfering Mycroft? I am a grown man for god’s sake! Why can’t you just LEAVE. ME. ALONE?!”

Sherlock’s demeanour had changed suddenly during the speech, from arrogance to anger. He had looked at his brother during his last words, his eyes ablaze with rage. His performance had the required effect. Mycroft silently rose from the chair and headed straight for the door. But Mycroft being Mycroft, he had to have the last word.

“If that is what you want Sherlock. I shall indeed leave you alone. For now…”

And with that Mycroft left the flat. Sherlock listened to the footsteps going down the stairs, the sound of the front door opening and closing and smiled. He was satisfied that he had sufficiently vexed his brother and that the performance had been a success.


	2. A More Welcome Visitor

There was only one more visitor that Sherlock had to deal with after Mycroft’s hasty departure and that was Molly, who was far more welcome, although he didn’t want to make that too apparent. He was now seated in his favourite armchair and Molly in the one opposite. She had made a pot of tea and laid out a plate of biscuits (she had bought some Jammie Dodgers as she knew they were Sherlock’s favourite). They enjoyed a period of silence as they sipped their tea, until Molly dropped her biscuit into her tea.

“Oh no!!” she exclaimed, not knowing what to do. The cup and saucer were unsteady in her hands and as she panicked, she managed to spill the contents all over her lap. Sherlock meanwhile was trying to stifle a laugh as the sight of Molly covered in a mixture of tea and soggy biscuit was rather an amusing sight. But as he noticed the look of distress on her face, he realised her embarrassment and the smirk promptly disappeared from his face. He put his own tea to one side and went to assist her.

“It’s alright Molly. It’s just tea. Nothing is broken.”

“Why can’t I just have one visit where something doesn’t go wrong? I always make a fool of myself, say the wrong thing…” She was on the verge of tears, standing there holding an empty cup and saucer, her new pink skirt stained with tea.

“Molly, you are not a fool. These things happen,” Sherlock said reassuringly. He took the cup and saucer from her and set them down on the table. He then assessed the damage. “It will come out in the wash Molly, it’s not ruined…”

“But I can’t walk down the street looking like THIS!” she wailed, the tears were welling in her eyes now, her hands gestured towards her skirt.

Sherlock took a moment to think through the situation and how to resolve it. It only took a matter of seconds.

“Right Molly Hooper. Here is what we are going to do. You are going to go into my bedroom, remove your skirt and then we will get it washed and dried.”

“But Sherlock… You don’t have a washing machine… You send all your clothes to the dry cleaners…”

“Yes I do. But Mrs Hudson has a washing machine AND dryer. I’m sure she will be happy to assist. Now go and take that thing off.”

“But Sherlock…”

“What now?” he retorted, growing slightly exasperated at Molly’s objections.

“What will I do whilst it’s being washed? I can’t sit around her in my… underwear.” Her face was flushed with embarrassment and she avoided looking Sherlock in the eye.

“You can wear one of my robes. There are some clean ones in the wardrobe.”

“You would let me wear one of your robes?” she gasped, surprised that he would allow her to wear anything of his.

“Of course. It’s the most practical solution. I don’t have any spare skirts… Well at least I don’t think I do…” he said, raising a mischievous eyebrow. That relieved Molly’s nerves somewhat and she laughed. “No go and get changed. I shall pop downstairs and see Mrs Hudson.”

After Sherlock had a brief conversation with Mrs Hudson, who was of course more than happy to help with Molly’s predicament, he re-entered the flat to find Molly sitting back in the armchair clad in his plaid robe. The robe was too big for her, so she had rolled up the sleeves and it covered her legs completely as the fabric pooled over her feet.

“I left it on the table,” she said as Sherlock stood in the middle of the living room. He looked to see the skirt folded on the coffee table. “Did you speak to Mrs Hudson?”

“Yes. It is not a problem. She will have it washed and dried for you in no time.”

“Sherlock? I looked at the washing instructions, and it says ‘do not tumble dry’”

“Oh they always put that on labels these days, just to cover themselves in case anything should go wrong with the process. On a low heat, it should be fine. I’ll just pop downstairs with it…”

Sherlock delivered Molly’s skirt into Mrs Hudson’s capable hands and she set about the task of washing it. He once again climbed the stairs and re-entered the flat. Molly had moved from her position in the armchair and was in the kitchen washing the tea set.

“Molly, you don’t need to do that,” he said as he entered the kitchen.

“It’s fine, just let me do something that I’m capable of.”

“Molly, will you STOP DOING THAT!” Sherlock snapped suddenly.

Molly turned to him, her cheeks flushed, a look of uncertainty on her face. They stood opposite each other, their eyes fixed on each other in an intense moment.

“Stop doing what?” she asked in a quiet voice. She was notably upset by his impulsive outburst.

Sherlock realised that he himself had said the wrong thing. Well it wasn’t what he had said, it was the way he had said it. It was time for some damage control again.

“Molly… I’m sorry for shouting at you. Forgive me. It’s just… You are always putting yourself down and… I… I don’t like it…”

He considered his next words carefully not sure if he should be completely honest with Molly but he knew that he could trust her. Even though he had treated her so badly in the past, she was always there and would always be willing to do whatever he asked. She had never faltered in her devotion to him and expected nothing in return. After some deliberation, he decided to tell her the truth.

“Molly… Yes you are a little clumsy, and yes you do sometimes make inappropriate jokes and say the wrong thing, wherein you have to either apologise or explain yourself, making the situation worse than it initially was… And then there is your obsession with cats and fluffy animals and a love of all things pink, which is a little bit twee… But that is all YOU Molly Hooper and… I wouldn’t want you to change…”

Molly blushed even more than she already was. She was lost for words as Sherlock had never said anything like that to her before. It was also the way he had spoken, softly, in contrast to the annoyance he had expressed just moments earlier. He had looked her straight in the eye as he had spoken, proving to her that he really meant what he said.

“Sherlock… I… I…”

“You’re stuttering again… I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable.”

“No… You didn’t… I just didn’t expect… You’ve never said…”

“Never said what? That I do care about you Molly? That I don’t like it when you demean yourself? Because you shouldn’t Molly. You are more brilliant than you believe yourself to be and I wouldn’t be here without you. You are just as important as John, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson. I told you once before that you do count…”

“Yes you did.”

“Have I ever told you something that wasn’t true?”

“No…”

“Good!” he exclaimed returning to a more cheerful tone of voice. “Do you think we dare risk another cup of tea?”


	3. He Cares! He Really Cares!

Molly looked horrified at the prospect of having to handle another cup of tea but they had to do something to pass the time whilst she waited for the return of her skirt. Sherlock made it this time, opting for two mugs as he knew they would be less likely to cause any further mishap. Molly had opted for the couch this time as it was closer to the coffee table which she could use. Sherlock surprised her as he also sat on the couch but seated himself at the opposite end leaving a safe gap between them.

“Sherlock? What you said before… did you really mean it?”

“Which part? You’ll have to be more specific.”

“The part where you said… that… you care about me…”

Molly shifted uncomfortably on the couch, her eyes fixed on the floor, unable to look at Sherlock as her cheeks turned a bright shade of crimson.

“Well I do…” he said, with a perplexed expression, as if he didn’t comprehend why she would find it so hard to believe. He did suspect that the reason was that he had never said such a thing to her before.

"But Sherlock..." Molly continued, struggling to try and find the right words she wanted to say. "You don't usually..."

"I believe what you are trying to say is that I don't usually express my feelings," he interrupted. "That I try to distance myself from experiencing emotions, which includes caring about people."

"Yes, that's right."

"It has taken me some time to realise, but since... _that day_... I have... changed..."

"You've never really talked about it before, well not to me."

"I've not talked to anyone about it. I didn't want anybody to know."

"Know what?"

 "That I was unable to ignore my feelings. My brother and I have previously agreed that we believe that caring to be a weakness. That day, I realised I did care about those around me, that I did have friends. And that I was prepared to die to protect them."

"But that didn't include me Sherlock."

"Because you weren't on Moriarty's hit list?"

"Yes. He didn't think you had any affection for me. I wasn’t important enough."

"Well he was wrong. If you had been in danger, I would have done the same. But it was fortunate that you weren't as you wouldn't have been able to help me."

Molly suddenly felt a pang of warmth in her chest. She started to believe that Sherlock was capable of including her as a friend. But there was still a part of her that told her not to get her hopes up, that it was too good to be true. What she had wanted for so long, to have Sherlock's interest in a more friendly way, had become something she had come to believe she would never have.

"Molly?" Sherlock asked, as she had lapsed deep into thought.

"Sorry Sherlock, I was just... thinking..."

"I know. I could hear you. What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that that... I've gotten so used to you being so aloof and unfeeling. If you have indeed changed, it's going to take time to adjust..."

"I understand. Change is always hard to accept, but it has to be dealt with."

"Sherlock? Remember the Christmas party, what happened, what you said and what I said back?"

Sherlock grimaced as he recalled the awkward scene when he had inadvertently upset Molly. He had been too busy deducing the gift to even suspect that he was the intended recipient. And he had personally insulted Molly by making unflattering references to her body and appearance. It had been a very rare moment as Sherlock had apologised to her and that had to mean something. He never said sorry to anybody, not even John. He couldn't believe he had overlooked the significance of that moment, but other things had been on his mind since then, first The Woman and then Moriarty.

"Yes, I remember it," he replied looking at her with sad eyes. "What about it?"

"You... always saying horrible things to me..." She had a pained expression on her face as she spoke.

"Molly... I never meant to..."

"I know, it's just the way you..." she paused as she chose her words carefully, "it was just your way."

"Yes... I know…"

"And then in the lab, you said why would you need anything from me... That is why I thought I didn't count..."

"But it turned out that I _did_ need you, and therefore you _did_ count. I just had to figure it out."

"So you really did mean it, that you needed me and you really do care? I was afraid it was just because I was convenient."

"No Molly," he said softly as he turned to face her on the couch, an intense gleam in his eyes. He swallowed before continuing. "When I came to you that night it wasn't because you were convenient. It's because I realised that I had been so stupid that I didn't _see_ how important you were. You would never believe that I was a fake. Even after all the things I had said, all the times I had upset you, you never really hated me. Yes, you may have been angry with me, but you understood that it was just me being me. Most people would have detested me, the way I treated you but you're not most people. You were willing to help me when I had nobody else I could turn to. I trust you Molly Hooper and as a friend I would do anything for you."

Molly was on the verge of tears, but she fought them back as she didn’t want to cry in front of Sherlock. She could not believe that he could actually be so tender. There had been a glimpse of it on the night before his 'death' when he had found her at the lab, but at that time he was under a great deal of pressure, he was sad back then. Now he was calm and speaking to her in a way that she had always dreamt of. She loved it when he talked, his deep voice cut right through her, especially when he was directing perfectly pronounced words to her personally.

The moment was broken by a knocking at the door and Mrs Hudson's voice.

"Cooee! Sherlock? I've got Molly's skirt!"

Sherlock got up and opened the door to Mrs Hudson holding Molly's freshly washed skirt.

"I gave it a bit of an iron too. Good as new!"

She walked around Sherlock into the flat and made her way towards Molly.

"You OK Molly dear?" she said with a smile.

"Yes Mrs Hudson, I'm fine."

"You just look a bit... out-of-sorts, that's all."

"I'm fine, really."

"She'll feel much better when she can get dressed again Mrs Hudson." Sherlock stated curtly. He moved towards her and made a gesture towards the skirt she was holding. She realised that he wanted her to hand over the skirt and did so before promptly darting back down the stairs to her own flat.

Sherlock stood beside the coffee table and held up the skirt to inspect it.

"Hmmm... no stain. It looks all right."

"Good. Do you think I could put it back on now?"

"Of course," Sherlock replied as Molly rose from the couch. He handed her the skirt, and as the exchange took place their fingers touched. Molly immediately withdrew her hands along with the skirt.

"I'm sorry Sherlock," she said, blushing with embarrassment.

"It's fine Molly. Now go and use the bedroom again. You can leave my robe on the bed."

Molly moved towards the bedroom, but as she did so, she tripped on the edge of the rug and almost ended up on the floor. But Sherlock stepped in to catch her, wrapping his arms around her.

"Oh Sherlock, I'm so sorry! I don't know what it is today, I'm so clumsy!"

"Yet again Molly, it's fine. John used to do that all the time, only he would swear at the rug and say he was going to buy a new one, but he never did..."

Sherlock's reference to John seemed to calm the situation, although they lingered for a moment in a half-embrace. Molly looked up at Sherlock as he peered down at her. The belt of the robe had come loose and Sherlock spied a glimpse of something black and lacy showing below Molly's pink blouse. He was surprised as he thought she would have worn pink knickers...

"Sherlock? Do you think you could let me go now?"

"Oh!" he exclaimed, as he realised he had been standing there holding her and checking out her underwear for more than a few seconds. "Of course!" he added as he withdrew from the embrace and went back to his favourite chair. Molly hurried into the bedroom to get changed while Sherlock began to analyse all that had just happened, especially the underwear incident. He was especially worried and surprised about that.

Molly went into the bedroom and took off the robe. As she put on her skirt, she too was thinking through what had just happened. "Why did she have to be so clumsy?" she asked herself. Things like that only happened when she was around Sherlock. It was like fate was conspiring to embarrass her every time she was with him. She had managed to stop stuttering around him and now it had been replaced with spills and falls! But, she smiled to herself as she remembered all the lovely things he had said. He cared about her, he really cared! And he had put his arms around her, she had liked that a lot. She loved him even more than she did before and she felt so happy.


	4. Sherlock’s OTHER Friend

Later that evening Sherlock was alone once more. Molly had left shortly after getting dressed. There had been an awkward moment as she was saying goodbye. Sherlock deduced that she was going to hug him, but then decided against it. He thought it was for the best as it might have lead to him thinking about her underwear again. He was worried about _that_ as it was most certainly out of character.

He was lying on the couch with his hands resting on his chest. He had tried reading, played his violin until he got bored, then a little TV but there was nothing good on, so he turned it off and threw the remote control at the screen. He decided to simply lie down and visit his mind palace. He needed to consider what he had said to Molly and more importantly why. Of course things between them had changed, but what did this development actually mean and what was he going to do about it?

“What makes Molly different to any woman I’ve known?” he asked himself and was initially stuck for an answer. So he closed his eyes and climbed the spiral staircase up to the laboratory in his mind palace.

There amongst all the scientific equipment, chemicals and body parts were all his memories of Molly. He went through a selection of them. He remembered the time in the canteen where he had manipulated her by commenting on her hair – he hadn’t actually been lying, he did prefer her hair when it was to the side. The occasion she asked him if he wanted coffee – OK he had been oblivious to the fact that she was trying to ask him out, but she didn’t get upset with him and still made him coffee. She was very good at her job and did not flinch at the sight of a gruesome dead body – he respected her for that. There was nothing he hated more than a woman who would faint at the sight of a little blood. Then he thought about her noticing that he looked sad when he thought John couldn’t see. She proved herself to be very perceptive, proving he had previously underestimated her observational skills. It pained him to hear that she thought she didn’t count when that was so far from the truth. She did count, she counted more than she could possibly imagine. He could always trust her as he had told her the night he went to her. She would always believe in him, would always care. No matter how many times he was rude to her and upset her, she would always defend him. She would do anything for him without a second thought.

“If you need anything… anything at all…” he heard her say as if it were a recording in his head. The sound of her soft voice caused an unexpected physical reaction. His eyes shot open and he looked down towards his groin with some hesitation.

“What the HELL do you think you’re doing?” he said to the appendage stirring in his pyjama bottoms.

Of course it didn’t answer him, so Sherlock continued the one-sided conversation.

“First I’m having problems dealing with my… feelings… And now my body is betraying me again. I do not NEED this! Do you hear me?”

He raised an eyebrow at the bulge which had no intention of abating.

“You’re not SUPPOSED to be DOING that!” he shouted, waving a finger at his crotch. “Why are you doing that? Is it because I was thinking about Molly? No… it’s not just that… It’s something else…”

He sniffed the air and frowned. There was something amiss.

“What is that? That smell?” He sniffed again and realised that he was wearing the plaid robe… the one that Molly had worn and the aroma was coming from it. It was the whiff of a sweet floral perfume.

“It’s her… I can smell her… Is that what you like?”

He took the lump’s silence as a yes.

“If you think I am going to succumb to what you want me to do, then you are greatly mistaken! Now stop it! STOP IT NOW!”

He waited for a moment to see if his body would obey. It didn’t. He gave it one of his angry glares but it stayed exactly the way it was.

“Oh for god’s sake! I told you I’m not going to give in! Go away!”

Suddenly there was a light knock at the door.

“Sherlock?” came Mrs Hudson’s voice. “Are you OK?”

“Yes Mrs Hudson.”

“But I thought I heard you shouting at someone…”

“I was just talking to myself Mrs Hudson. I’m fine…”

“Oh alright then. I was just checking! You know I don’t like it when there’s fighting in the flat… Thought there might be trouble the way you were shouting…”

He heard her go back downstairs, leaving her to his problem. He was very glad that she hadn’t decided to enter the flat, or else he would have had to grab a cushion to conceal his embarrassing friend.

“Yes Mrs Hudson,” he continued to himself, “There is trouble… it’s in my underwear…”


	5. Things are not always as they appear…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally I gave my readers on FF.net a choice of how they wanted the next chapter to go. Basically the question was should Sherlock give in, or should he fight the urges that he is having? There was kind of a vote and this chapter was the result... ;)

“If you think you can wear me down, then you are sadly mistaken!” Sherlock said to the bulge that was still making its presence known.

“You know I can win this battle. I am in charge of YOU, not the other way around! I will not let you corrupt me!”

He looked down again at the protuberance in his pyjamas and frowned. He had to admit his body was being very persistent. He had experienced manifestations like this before, but had always managed to control the urge to relent and successfully return to a relaxed state.

“How did I triumph last time?” he asked himself, trying to remember but he couldn’t. He had a vague recollection that it had definitely happened numerous times before and he had managed to fend it off, but the details of how he managed to do it were nowhere to be found in his mind palace. He even checked the wine cellar but all he found was a headless skeleton…

“Must have deleted them… I need to be more careful about what I delete in future… Oh! Maybe if I think of something REALLY offensive then that will work. Now, what could possibly disgust me enough to bring me out of this state of arousal? Ah! I have it! ANDERSON!”

He closed his eyes and remembered why he hated Anderson so much. His face, yes, that was what irritated him the most. His appearance - he looked like an evil goblin with his pointy nose… and he was such an IDIOT! He had never met anybody so dim-witted in his life. At a crime scene he could never see the most obvious facts staring him in the face and his deductions were always wrong. The evidence could have a big flashing sign with an arrow pointing to it and he would still fail to notice it. And then there was his sordid extra-marital relationship with Donovan. They were the dastardly duo, always plotting against him and doing distasteful things with each other behind closed doors. He knew what they had done, reporting him to the Chief Superintendent, helping Moriarty to ruin him. Ever since he had come back from the dead they had kept their distance and he was glad of that. But their hatred of him still managed to reach him and was deflected right back at them.

Sherlock glanced down at his ‘friend’ who was showing signs of waning. The method of attack was working! He was victorious!

“Well I suppose that’s one thing Anderson is good for… The thought of him made you see sense! I think I’ll take a cold shower to make sure you properly behave!”

xxx

_Oh faithful readers… you didn’t REALLY think that was going to happen did you? This is supposed to be a story about Sherlock coming to terms with and accepting that he has emotions… so to allow the scenario that has just happened would be wrong! ;) And I actually had greater feedback asking for him to give in… so I’m bowing to popular opinion and not cheating! :)_

_Now it’s time for the REAL chapter!_

xxx

“If you think you can wear me down, then you are sadly mistaken!” Sherlock said to the bulge that was still making its presence known.

“Why now? I don’t understand. I’ve managed to control you for so long…”

He looked down again at the protuberance in his pyjamas and frowned. He had to admit his body was being very persistent. He had experienced manifestations like this before, but had always managed to control the urge to relent and successfully return to a relaxed state. But this time it was different, he was conflicted, not knowing whether he wanted to fight the urge or give into it.

“Oh stupid, STUPID! That’s it isn’t it? You’re rebelling aren’t you?” he said, arching an eyebrow. “I’ve neglected you and now you’re staging a mutiny?”

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably on the couch, placing his palms flat down on either side and tried to control his breathing.

“I can’t do this… Do you hear me? You’re an irritation! All because of… M-Molly and her… undergarments… Her black lacy knickers… Oh no… that’s NOT helping!”

Sherlock closed his eyes and snaked a hand down towards the offending protuberance, it hovered hesitantly, not sure whether to continue. Dare he touch it? What would happen once he did? It had been a long time since he had ever touched himself like _that_ and he had deleted most of the data as he had come to the conclusion that the more he remembered the experience, the more likely he would be to give in. But of course that hadn’t worked or else he wouldn’t be in the situation he was in. His hand hovered for what seemed to be an eternity, uncertain as to whether the brain controlling it wanted to continue.

“Oh Molly… what have you done?” he sighed as he set his hand down flat on his stomach and his fingers crept closer to the edge of his pyjamas. Upon reaching the waistband his fingers fluttered for a moment before slowly sliding underneath. Moving leisurely over curly, wiry hairs and warm skin they reached their destination. He gasped as the full extent of his arousal became apparent. His cock was hot and hard and he could feel the blood surging into it. As he gently stroked down his throbbing muscle it seemed to twitch as if surprised that it was getting physical attention.

“You didn’t think I was going to do it, did you?” he said as he wrapped his long slender fingers around the shaft of his sturdy erection. “Well, that makes two of us…”

He lay still for a while simply holding himself, his eyes closed and his breathing was heavy but controlled. He started to imagine what had started it all – Molly. Why had it taken him so long to really see her as she was. With Irene it had been different, he had been intrigued right away and not by her nudity. He had not been able to read her at all, perhaps due to the lack of clothing to give him adequate clues. With Molly it had been a gradual realisation that she was important to him, and more lately that she was a grown woman with feelings for him. Why shouldn’t he reciprocate? He had denied himself physical pleasure for so long, and now his body was telling him that he could no longer abstain. Molly was the key to its release from his self-imposed suppression.

“Oh Molly!” he gasped, as he remembered her in his bathrobe sitting on the couch. He recalled one particular moment when she had crossed her legs and sighed. He had stolen a glimpse of bare thigh, but she had immediately covered it up, unaware that he had noticed. His friend, whom he still had grasped firmly in his hand, rather liked the memory…

“Oh you are intolerable!” he said to his cock and gave it a squeeze, which resulted in a surprised moan. “Oh… that’s… rather good…” The scales had finally tipped as he gave into the pleasurable feelings he was experiencing. He steadied his hand and began fisting it up and down his substantial length, slow at first but gradually getting faster and faster. He had begun to sweat and his hair was a mass of messy wild locks, the curls of his fringe stuck to his damp forehead. He shook his head to try and shift them away, but they refused.

“I can understand why people do this… sort of thing,” he said in a breathy voice. “It’s rather… stimulating…”

As the sensations in his groin got more intense he shoved his pyjamas down with his free hand, exposing himself to the air of the room. He glanced down at what he was doing. His penis was flushed with blood and still very rigid. He flung his head back down onto the cushion and groaned. He needed something more to get off, so he lifted his t-shirt and started to caress his chest, lightly fingering his nipples.

“Come ON! I’m giving you what you WANT! Oh… I’m not? You want me to think about Molly some more don’t you? Alright then…”

He closed his eyes and pictured Molly sitting on the couch beside him. She was wearing his plaid robe and he imagined little else.

“Sherlock…” she said in a soft voice and crawled over to straddle his hips. On doing so the robe fell open and she shrugged it off her shoulders. She was wearing the black lacy knickers and a matching bra which was almost see-through.

“They’re bigger than I thought…” Sherlock commented, referring to the size of her breasts.

“Would you like me to take my bra off?” Molly asked with a sweet smile.

“Um… yes… YES!! YEEEEES!!”

Sherlock snapped out of his dreamlike state as his friend decided it had achieved the required amount of stimulation and ejaculated over his stomach.

“Oooooh,” he moaned over and over as his body convulsed on the couch and he rode out the remainder of his climax. It took a while for him to settle down and he simply lay still until his cock had returned to a flaccid state in his hand.

“Well that was… enlightening…” he said looking down one last time. “I hope you don’t make a habit of this…”

But “who was he kidding?” he had thought to himself. Something inside him had awoken and he knew that he was going to have more experiences with his fleshy friend… He had found a new addiction for the time being…


	6. The Case of the Noisy Neighbour

After what Sherlock had started to refer to as ‘The Event’ (but only to himself of course – he could never tell anyone) he began to indulge his ‘friend’ on a regular basis, usually in the mornings when he woke up, or rather his ‘friend’ woke him up. He needed something to take his mind off his increasing physical needs, so he took a case…

A man by the name of Peter Hampson had visited 221B to consult Sherlock on the matter of his neighbour. Initially Sherlock was impassive; it appeared to be the usual neighbourly domestic dispute, noise disruption and visitors calling at unreasonable hours. He was going to tell Peter to make a diary of incidents, get audio evidence and take them to the police. His noisy neighbour obviously needed an ASBO. But then Peter had said something that stimulated Sherlock’s interest.

“I went to the police, but they didn’t believe me… Even after they had questioned my neighbour and looked around the house,” were the words that grabbed Sherlock’s attention.

“Didn’t believe what?” Sherlock said, as he leaned forward in his chair with a flicker of intrigue in his eyes.

“That I heard somebody being murdered Mr Holmes!”

“Murdered?”

“Yes! There were screams in the middle of the night, horrible cries of pain! A man begging for his life, but no matter how much he pleaded, his torturer didn’t relent. I could hear him constantly thrashing the poor man, until all was silent.”

“You believe that those sounds were that of a man being beaten to death?”

“Yes Mr Holmes, I do.”

“So… You went to the police with your story, although you had no proof, you felt morally obligated to report the incident. They went to your neighbour, asked questions, got nowhere. Your neighbour obviously had an airtight alibi on the night in question and no knowledge of the supposed incident that you had reported. The police looked around the house and found no evidence of a murder or anything related to signs of a struggle.”

“You’re absolutely right.”

“But just because they didn’t find anything, it doesn’t mean that there wasn’t anything there. The police aren’t always thorough in their investigations and I doubt that they made a full exploration of the house, especially as it’s a house with four floors. And they probably couldn’t be bothered as your neighbour had convinced them that nothing had happened…”

“They didn’t seem concerned at all Mr Holmes. Told me that it was probably the television I heard, a violent film or something. But it was no movie, it was real, you have to believe me!”

“Oh I do. Doesn’t take a genius to be able to tell the difference between recorded sounds and the real life sounds of a brutal beating. The differences in sound wave resonance are quite distinct if you pay attention and listen.”

“Will you take the case?”

“I believe I will Mr Hampson.”

xxx

And with that Sherlock found himself inspecting the four storey townhouse in an affluent area of London. He had acquired access to a flat opposite so he could watch the movements of the occupant. Peter had been vague in the description of his neighbour, probably as they had never actually met. Sherlock’s investigation discovered that  that he was a short, slight man in his late early 30’s. Shaggy dark hair, a thick moustache, always smartly dressed in a suit, hat and large overcoat (that was too big for him) and according to the postman, his name was Lee Derrian

After a few days and no notable events other than Mr Derrian leaving and entering via the front door, Sherlock moved his surveillance to the back of the property. Clearly if visitors were no longer entering from the street, then the back door was the only other alternative. He found a good position in the branches of a large oak tree in Peter’s garden where he could clearly observe the rear entrance and that is where he struck gold.

Many visitors came and went each staying for approximately 30 minutes to an hour. All faces were concealed with scarves and hats which aroused Sherlock’s interest immediately. These callers did not want anyone to know their identity, their behaviour was cautious as they kept to the shadows to reach the house. Three knocks and the door opened and they slipped inside. There was no sight of who opened the door as the inner entrance was unlit. Sherlock was most certainly intrigued at this point. He had to find out more. Who were these visitors and more importantly what were they doing there?

Sherlock had continued the surveillance for a few days more, just to check that Derrian did not deviate from his routine. He didn’t, so Sherlock decided the time was right for a little breaking and entering. He waited for Derrian to leave the house as usual and stealthily approached the back door. The lock was easy to manipulate with his lock picking equipment and he cautiously gained entrance into the building.

He switched on his torch and found himself in a small hallway with only one internal door. There was no wallpaper, decoration or carpet to the small passage, indicating that it was merely a thoroughfare to another part of the building and not important.

Sherlock closed the door behind him and moved towards the plain wooden internal door. Whatever was behind it held all the answers to this case and there was nothing that would stop him from discovering the secrets it concealed. His hand hovered over the handle, fingers flexing in his leather gloves before grasping and pushing it down. It opened without resistance which surprised him, he had expected another locked door.

“Not exactly Fort Knox…” he whispered to himself as he opened the door fully. It revealed a staircase leading down to the basement. He paused for a moment as he smiled to himself. Obviously the police had not discovered this as there appeared to be no obvious connection to the main part of the house. Maybe there was one, but it was not from the main hallway. Sherlock dismissed those thoughts and returned to the matter at hand. He slowly descended the stairs towards another door at the bottom.

On the other side of that door Sherlock was met with a sight that actually managed to shock him. It wasn’t a basement at all… it was a dungeon! A very well-decorated and furnished dungeon! There were instruments of torture hanging from the walls and ceiling, chairs with restraints, shelves housing an assortment of whips and flogging devices. Sherlock stood in the centre of the room, wide-eyed as his brain took in the visual information. That is what was happening here, the cries and the screams. They were _clients_ of Mr Derrian. There was no murder, but the sounds that Peter had heard were real, at least he could tell him he was right.

Whilst Sherlock was processing all the data from his surroundings, he was unaware of someone entering the back door and quietly descending the stairs. He did not see a dark clothed figure enter behind him. Not until the stranger spoke did he spin around to face them.

“Well Sherlock Holmes. I didn’t expect to see you here!” the person spoke in the voice of… THE WOMAN!


	7. THE WOMAN

As Sherlock turned he shone his torch into the face of Irene. But it did not look like Irene at all.

“Want a better look?” she said, and without waiting for a reply, turned and flicked on the main light. The room was illuminated by a single bulb encased in a decorative glass lampshade hanging from the ceiling and enabled Sherlock to make a closer inspection.

The person standing before him certainly did not look like Irene Adler upon the first glance. What Sherlock observed was a short man, early 30’s, dressed in a suit, large overcoat, with thick, dark hair that framed his face. Accompanying the shaggy hairstyle was a moustache of the same colour. As he looked closer he could tell that both the hair and moustache were false and that it was no man that stood before him.

“Ah…” Sherlock said as he deduced the truth. “Mr Derrian I presume?”

“You deduce correctly Mr Holmes,” Irene replied before pulling off the wig and the fake moustache.

 “You didn’t want certain people to know you were back in London, so you created an alter ego to enable you to go out and about unobserved. I should have realised sooner damn it! Lee Derrian is an anagram of Irene Adler. Stupid, stupid!”

“Well I wanted to leave you some clue, just in case our paths crossed again.”

“Why are you back?”

“Well seeing as Jim Moriarty and his network are no more, thanks to you. London is a lot safer for me than it used to be. But there are still some individuals that I would like to avoid, so the disguise was needed. Of course only my most loyal clients know where I reside. We’re all very discreet.”

She moved towards Sherlock and touched his cheek with a gloved hand. He flinched and stepped back away from the contact.

“Oh I forgot,” she said, almost blushing. “You still think that love is a disadvantage. I thought you might have reconsidered since we last saw each other. After all you did save my life.”

“Yes, and then you immediately disappeared. I didn’t even get a thank you.”

“I didn’t think you would have appreciated the… sentiment…”

“Quite right… back then I wouldn’t have…”

Irene shed her overcoat and suit jacket, casting them onto a nearby armchair.

“What do you mean by ‘back then’?” she enquired with a frown.

“Um… I meant nothing by it, nothing at all,” Sherlock replied, almost a little too quickly, sounding a little too nervous.

“Something has changed! I can see it in your eyes!” Irene exclaimed with a look of triumph and amazement.

“Nothing has changed; nothing at all!” Sherlock protested. He put his hands in his pockets and stared at his feet awkwardly in an attempt to avoid eye contact. How did she know? How could she see through him so easily? She could read him like an open book. What made her so different to anybody else he had ever met?

“Alright, I confess, I did not see it in your eyes, I made other observations. As soon as I pounced upon your ‘back then’ comment you became a little too defensive, doing that thing you do when you talk too fast, almost stumbling over your words. And your body language changed, your eyes went straight to your feet and you shuffled uncomfortably.”

As Irene spoke she slowly advanced upon Sherlock, and he gradually backed away until the backs of his legs came into contact with a chair.

“That could simply mean that I am uncomfortable being around you…”

“I think it’s so much more than that Sherlock,” she replied and then quickly put a palm to his chest and pushed him back into the chair. Before Sherlock had a chance to react, she had restrained his wrists with the leather cuffs that were attached to the arms of the chair.

“What are you doing?” he spat, as he tried half-heartedly to free himself. He accepted the fact that he could not escape his bonds, but he had to look as though he was making some sort of effort to resist.

“This has turned into an interrogation Mr Holmes.”

“An interrogation? What do you want?”

“I want the truth. You’re holding something back and I want to know what it is!”

“That’s not… I… I have n-nothing to tell you…”

“And now you’re stuttering. I seem to have hit a nerve…”

She leaned in close so that their faces were only inches apart. He could feel her breath on his lips.

“What. Has. Changed?” he articulated slowly and breathily into his face.

“N-n-nothing!”

“Hmmm… stuttering again, that’s a promising result. Would you like me to get the riding crop? I could always beat the truth out of you…” she suggested with a smirk and an arched eyebrow.

“I’m not going to tell you anything because there is nothing to tell!” Sherlock barked at her, his face contorted into a snarling expression. He had regained his composure and command over his speech and once again tried to resist the restraints that held him in place.

Irene did not verbally reply, she simply gave him a look of contempt and went to one of the shelves. Taking a black, leather riding crop in one hand and running the other along its length, she returned to her captive. Sherlock’s eyes grew wide as he realised she was actually going to carry out her threat.

“Are you sure there is nothing you want to reveal?” she said with a wicked smile.

“NOTHING! Now untie me!” he retorted, through gritted teeth.

“Why would I do that when I have you right where I want you?” she whispered softly, as she dragged the end of the crop from his neck to his cheek.

“Stop that! Stop that NOW!” he ordered.

“Um… nooo,” she replied, and without warning, brought the crop down hard across his thighs. Although he was partly protected by the material of his trousers, it still hurt and he grimaced.

“There’s… nothing!” he gasped.

Irene replied with another strike with the crop, this time Sherlock reacted with a small whimper.

“There IS something Sherlock Holmes, and you will tell me! I can keep you here for days if needed!”

“W-why are you so eager to know?” he said, panting.

“Because I want to know what makes you so… special…”

“Special? How?” Sherlock was puzzled and the expression on his face conveyed that.

“Because you’re the only man that I have ever had… feelings for,” she stated, looking away from him.

“Ah, the sentiment!” he exclaimed as the old Sherlock returned. “That’s what this is all about! I made you slip up once and you want to know why as it has never happened to you before and now you’re worried, concerned that it might not be a one-off. You thought you’d beaten me, but then I turned the tables and triumphed over you and now you’re…”

“It’s not THAT Sherlock!” she snapped, interrupting his speech. “You do realise that I have never been… attracted to a man before.”

“Ah yes… because you’re gay…” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, Sherlock. I always have been and always will be. But then there is you, the fly in the ointment. At first it was a game, that I enjoyed, playing the part of the bisexual dominatrix, out to capture the heart of the cold, unfeeling detective. I thought you had played right into my hands, that I had awakened something inside of you. Then you trounced me and I realised then that you had been playing your own game with me… that you never had felt anything for me, you were just acting how I wanted you to. But then you saved me from being executed, and I didn’t know what to think.”

“Why did you leave right after I… rescued you?”

“Because I was afraid, Sherlock. Afraid of the possibility that I might have feelings for you. Afraid that you’d reject me.”

“You were right to flee then, as I would have rejected you then, as I would now.”

“But you said…”

“Yes, I did imply that didn’t I…”

“Something has changed! But it’s not me!” she exclaimed.

Sherlock did not reply verbally, he merely gave her a look that indicated she was correct…


	8. THE WOMAN doesn’t give up easily…

“So I’m RIGHT! There IS somebody!” Irene declared, her eyes positively twinkling with delight. “Who is it? Oh you HAVE to tell me who has managed to break through the virgin’s armour!”

Sherlock remained tight-lipped and merely shook his head.

“Maybe I will have to try something a little more persuasive,” she said with a devilish smirk as she moved to the shelf and replaced the riding crop with a wooden cane. Sherlock raised his eyebrows and looked away, feigning disinterest, although really he was worried. He had already made a slip of the tongue with his ‘back then’ comment, then compounded the mistake by stuttering several times. And on top of all of that she had then managed to coax a reaction from him and it was only a visual indication, not even a verbal response. His body had betrayed him again by giving her a look that qualified as an answer, and it had not just been a reaction to the pain. He was impressed at her deductions; that she had managed to wrangle out of him a hint of what was going on.

“I’m not going to tell you any more than I already have,” he stated, giving her a steely glare.

“Oh but I think you WILL!” she sang gleefully as she brought the cane down hard on his legs. This time he was unable to restrain himself and he cried out in reaction to the burning pain. He knew he would have marks all over his legs once she was done with him. It was fortunate that his upper legs were always covered as he would have some explaining to do if anybody were to see.

“NO!” Sherlock shouted, his face contorted with anger. Irene’s response was another swift strike with the cane, the other leg this time.

“You know I won’t give up. I never give up. You will tell me what I want to know Sherlock. Don’t make me resort to bloodying that gorgeous face…”

“Why do you want to know?” he asked, deciding to delay further assault by engaging in conversation.

“Because I do…”

“Now YOU are holding something back… Are you jealous?” he said, laughing jokily.

“Of course I am. Who wouldn’t be jealous of a woman that has managed to capture the interest of the Great Sherlock Holmes?”

“You captured my interest when we first met.”

“Yes, because I was something different to any woman you’d ever met before. But there was never anything more than mere curiosity on your part. I suspect that this mystery lady of yours has had a far greater effect on you than I ever had. I’d like to meet her.”

Sherlock stared into Irene’s eyes for a moment and yet again looked away.

“I am right in assuming that it is a female? You haven’t corrected me…”

Sherlock ignored her question and did not turn back to face her.

“I’ll take that as a yes. I did wonder about you and John at first… such good, close friends… But no, there was never anything like that was there. He likes women and you’d never give into emotions, feelings and of course sentiment – making you weak… until now of course… I’m intrigued to know what changed. What made you give in?”

“I died Irene…” he simply replied, breaking his silence.

“Oh… and that caused you to reassess things?”

Sherlock let out a long sigh. He knew now that it was hopeless to resist if he was ever going to be released from Irene’s lair. He thought long and hard about what to say, how much should he reveal to her? He didn’t have to tell her who was involved. She didn’t know Molly, therefore she couldn’t suspect her identity.

“Yes… I have recently developed _feelings_ for someone, since I came back.”

“Well that’s a step in the right direction. It’s not enough information though, do continue.”

“WHAT do you WANT me to TELL you?” he snapped at her, growing more irritated at having to divulge his innermost thoughts to a woman he could not entirely trust.

“I want to know what changed, how and more importantly why?”

“She was there for me when I could trust no other. Her loyalty to me is unwavering, she never for one second believed I was a fake. And although I have treated her badly in the past, she still… _cares_ for me. She has finally come to accept me for who I am, but she doesn’t know…”

“You haven’t told her how you feel?”

“How can I tell her? ‘Oh I know you’ve been in love for me for years but I wasn’t interested. Then you helped me fake my own death, I came back and now I’ve decided that have… _feelings_ for you?’ She wouldn’t believe me anyhow, she’d think that I was trying to get something from her.”

“Well you would be wouldn’t you?”

“Not like that.”

“But what do you want from her?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who is she? You said she _helped_ you fake your death?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“You know I will find out. I know people Sherlock.”

“Please don’t.”

“Oh are you begging Sherlock Holmes?” she said with a wry smile, running the cane through her hand.

“NO!”

“It sounded like it to me.”

“Well I was NOT. I was merely asking for you to leave it alone. I haven’t yet decided whether I am going to **_do_** anything about it yet.”

Irene looked confused. “What do you mean you haven’t decided what to do?”

“As you know I believe feelings are a weakness, if I give into my emotions then who knows what will happen. I could lose all that I have worked so hard to develop.”

“You think that allowing yourself to have a close romantic relationship with another human being will make you more like a _normal man_ and that, for you, would be a tragedy.”

“You deduce correctly. I haven’t divorced myself from feelings all these years for nothing. It was always about the work and nothing could get in the way of it. I know what happens to people _in love._ ” He wrinkled his nose in disgust as he said the last two words, as if they had the most abhorrent meaning.

“You think that you’ll lose the ability to think?” Irene questioned, raising her eyebrows.

“Well, that’s what happens when one becomes romantically attached isn’t it? They can’t think straight, all they think about is the next phone call, the next _date._ I saw it happen to John. When he met Mary, he couldn’t function normally, his mind was often elsewhere, thinking about _her._ ”

“You actually believe that you’ll lose your mind!” Irene stated before she expelled an amused laugh.

“DON’T LAUGH AT ME!” Sherlock snarled, his face like thunder.

“Why not? It’s funny! I’m rather enjoying this!”

Sherlock grimaced as he realised that she had uttered the same words he had used years ago in Buckingham Palace; when he first heard about her. He remained quiet, avoiding her eyes again.

“So,” she continued, “she helped you fake your death. So you must have already known her to entrust her with such responsibility. You couldn’t just ask anyone for help, and it couldn’t be the three targets of Moriarty, they were already in too much danger and could have easily given the game away. Am I right?”

Sherlock answered with a stony glare.

“So, she must be someone that you would come across on a regular basis, perhaps through work? She’s not that awful policewoman is she?”

“No she is NOT!” Sherlock spat, his face contorted into an expression of revulsion at the mere thought of Donovan. 

“Well that rules her out then. How about somebody at Bart’s? You’re always there. Mycroft himself once said it was your second home…”

Sherlock did not know how she knew what his brother had once said to him, but at that moment he didn’t really care. Irene was getting far too close to solving the mystery and he had to admit he was feeling rather anxious. He shifted uncomfortably in the chair, his thighs still smarting from the lashes she had given him. How long was she going to persist with this interrogation? How far was she prepared to go to extract the truth out of him?

“I guess I’ll have to go there and do some investigating of my own,” she said sneering at him, knowing all too well how uneasy he felt and she was relishing every single minute of it. “Maybe I’ll don a convincing disguise and infiltrate the lab, who knows what I could learn there?”

“Don’t you DARE!”

“Oh I’m getting rather too closer aren’t I?” she said in a sing-song voice that made Sherlock shudder as it reminded him of Moriarty. She took the cane and teased his face with the tip of it.

“Stop it!”

“Why would I stop now? I love watching you squirm!”

She moved the tip of the cane down his slender neck, teased the buttons of his shirt and was about to move to a lower part of his anatomy when suddenly Sherlock gripped the end of the cane with one hand. As they had been talking he had been slowly stretching the leather of one of the cuffs with his wrist. He worked it just enough to free his right hand and that hand clutched the end of the cane tightly. Irene looked shocked, astonished that he had managed to free himself without her noticing, but she had been distracted.

“You no longer have me at a disadvantage,” Sherlock said coldly. Irene merely stared at him open-mouthed, silenced by the shock of his sudden free movement.

He pulled the cane towards him and with it Irene who still grasped the handle. He pulled her forward just enough so that he could look her straight in the face.

“You will leave this alone,” he stated with a look of contempt. “You forget that I know people too, people that you don’t want to know that you’re alive and back in London.”

“Sherlock… you wouldn’t!” Irene gasped.

“Wouldn’t I?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. He then released his hold on the cane and proceeded to release himself from his bonds. Irene merely stood back and allowed him to get up from the chair.

“I’ll let myself out,” he said with a fake smile before disappearing up the stairs and out of the house.

Irene stood in the middle of the room contemplating what had just happened. Of course there was the threat that Sherlock would reveal her location to her enemies, but the curiosity of his mystery woman was too great. She would have to discover her identity, but at the same time exercise caution so as not to alert Sherlock. A disguise was indeed called for and it had to be a _good_ one…


	9. Back at 221B

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock returns to the flat to find another visitor waiting for him. Who could it be this time?

Sherlock’s mind raced as he walked back to Baker Street. The unexpected encounter with Irene had most certainly rattled him. He was worried about what she would do next; there was no way she would leave matters alone. Her curiosity had been stirred and he knew that no matter what threats he made to try and deter her, she would do whatever she could to find out his secret.

His thoughts wandered back to the cause of his problems – Molly. He still did not fully comprehend what was happening. He had never been the most sociable of people, what was considered normal human interaction he believed to be a waste of time. Exchanging pleasantries got in the way of finding out facts, and getting to the truth was far more important than considering the feelings of others. Or so he had thought. Being with John had changed him. He had acted as his emotional centre, pointed out when he was at fault; a friend who trusted him completely and who he trusted back. Maybe that was it - John had left and now Sherlock had to take on the special part that John played - having to surrender to emotions and sentiment because John was no longer around to do it for him seemed to be the conclusion.

He reached Baker Street and mounted the stairs, but as he did so he sensed there was someone waiting for him in the flat. The door was slightly ajar and he had not left it that way. It could have been Mrs Hudson who had been to do some cleaning. She was far more fastidious since John had moved out knowing that the flat would become a mess with Sherlock living on his own.

He moved slowly towards the door and pushed it open before walking cautiously into the room. He relaxed immediately when he saw John sitting in his favourite chair reading a newspaper.

“John?”

“Sherlock,” he responded, putting the newspaper down on his lap.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, frowning as he moved into the centre of the room.

“Just visiting. It’s what friends do Sherlock. They visit”

“Oh, right,” Sherlock replied as he understood, his frown disappeared in a flash.

He took off his coat, hung it on the back of the door and went to his favourite chair sitting down opposite John.

“So, what have you been up to?” John enquired.

“Me? I haven’t  been ‘up to’ anything, nothing at all. Why do you ask? Why is it so interesting to you to know what I’ve been doing? Why is _everyone_ so interested in what I’ve been doing?” Sherlock blurted out quickly.

“Sherlock do I have to keep repeating myself? Friend? It’s what friends do? They visit, make conversation, exchange stories on what they’ve been doing in their lives.”

“I already know what you’ve been doing. I read your blog…”

“Yes, and I’ve read yours, but I don’t really want to know what experiments you’ve been doing on various dead body parts. Your website doesn’t really tell me how you are personally.”

“Well I don’t want to put my life on the internet.”

“I know you don’t. That is why I’m here, for a chat? To catch up? Now I don’t live here Sherlock, I don’t have a clue what’s been going on in your private life.”

“I have a private life?”

John rolled his eyes in exasperation. All he had wanted was a normal civilised conversation with Sherlock, but he should have known better. To have an ordinary conversation with Sherlock was impossible.

“Yes you do Sherlock. Like who have you seen and spoken to recently? How are you? Have you been taking care of yourself?”

“I’m fine John.”

“God you’re so stubborn! I just came here to see how you are and you have to make it so difficult! It’s not an interrogation Sherlock, I’m just interested to see how my friend is coping… living alone!”

“I have lived alone before John, and I coped just FINE!” Sherlock snapped.

“Damn it, why do you have to be so annoying?”

“I’m Sherlock, it’s what I do…” he replied with a smirk.

“You were winding me up weren’t you?”

“Hmmm… maybe…” he said with a smile. “I admit that I have missed irritating you on a daily basis.”

“Ooh sentiment!”

“Oh do shut up!”

“So? Are you going to indulge me? What have you been doing lately?”

“Oh nothing much. Just finished a case of a noisy neighbour who turned out not to have murdered a man…”

“Boring case then? No murder.”

“Yes, it was decidedly dull,” he stated, concealing the fact that Irene had been involved.

“Any visitors?”

“My brother of course, being exceptionally irksome as usual, Molly came for tea, Lestrade drops by sometimes, even though he doesn’t have any cases. I really don’t know why he bothers when he knows I’m not interested unless he has something for me.”

“Oh!”

“Oh what?”

“Molly came around for tea?”

“Yes?”

“Molly has never had tea here before,” John remarked. “Did _she_ just drop by?”

“No… I invited her…”

“You INVITED her?” John exclaimed, his facial expression one of shock and surprise.

“That’s what I said…”

“Why Sherlock? You’ve never invited anyone over to the flat before.”

“Because I wanted to. Molly is… far less annoying than my other _uninvited_ visitors.”

“Ah, so you wanted the company of someone less irritating than Mycroft and Lestrade?”

“I suppose so…” Sherlock replied vaguely.

John chuckled. “And someone who is always useful to you.”

“What do you mean?” Sherlock asked with a confused expression.

“Oh come on Sherlock. We know why you like having Molly around. She’s your access to the mortuary, the lab. You need her to be able to get in there, so you need to keep her happy. And I’m sure having tea with you kept her VERY happy, although I bet she was her usual nervous self around you because she still has a thing for you.”

“John!” Sherlock exclaimed with indignation.

“Well it’s the TRUTH isn’t it?”

“No… it’s not…” Sherlock muttered quietly, blushing slightly.

“Sherlock? Are you… _blushing_?”

“No. It’s just a bit warm in here that’s all.”

“You liar!”

Sherlock replied silently with a steely glare, his face returning to its usual pallor.

“Well what _is_ the truth then?”

“She has been for tea several times. And her company is not unpleasant. I… I like having her around.”

“You’re kidding right? I mean this is Molly Hooper we’re talking about? The Molly that you inadvertently upset all the time? I mean the incident at the Christmas party for example; that was a classic moment!”

“She forgave me for that!”

“Yes, because you apologised and kissed her on the cheek. But I don’t think that made up for all the times you have said the wrong thing, or manipulated her to get what you want. You have used her a lot in the past Sherlock, it’s a wonder she still wants to be around you!”

“Now who’s being insensitive? You’re being mean to ME now.”

“Well I’m having a hard time believing that you suddenly enjoy Molly’s company.”

“But I do. So deal with it.”

“I still don’t get it…”

“You don’t have to ‘get it’ John, you just have to accept it. You of all people know that I have… changed over the years. I have accepted that I have friends, I tolerate their visits. And then I realised how badly I’d treated Molly in the past, how I’d upset her, and I decided to try and put it right.”

“So you inviting her here is like compensation? For being such a dick to her?”

“No. I… I don’t know John, I’m so confused!” He put his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes. His demeanour reminded John of when Sherlock had thought he’d seen the hound, back in the pub when he was battling with his emotions.

“Talk to me Sherlock, you know you can tell me anything.” He leaned forward and gave him his best endearing expression, the one that he knew would encourage Sherlock to open up.

Sherlock’s face lit up as he realised that he could confide in John. He would give his honest opinion and could offer helpful advice on the situation.

“It’s not me feeling sorry for Molly and it’s not what you said. I don’t want to give Molly attention to make up for being horrible to her. That’s not the reason, well, not now. It might have started off that way, but it changed. I realised it was more than that.”

“Still don’t get it. What is it?”

“I need her around John… I can’t explain it, I just do.”

“Is this because I’m not around as much anymore?”

“Maybe, I don’t know. It’s different with her.”

“What’s different? Sherlock, I know it’s difficult, but you have to tell me so I can understand, because at the moment, I don’t.”

Sherlock looked at John with an intense stare. He took a few deep breaths and leaned forward in his chair.

“Well John… I think I may have developed _feelings_ …”

“Feelings? But I thought you divorced yourself from feelings? Although there are occasions like this when you go off on one with them.”

“I did endeavour to contain them John… but, they have gotten the better of me. I tried to suppress them, but I can’t anymore. I have developed _feelings_ for… Molly…”

He had told John what Irene could not coax out of him, even with physical torture. Sherlock felt a small amount of relief that he had finally shared this information with somebody. And really if he were to share anything so personal with anybody it would be John. John was the one he could trust, who would try and understand and help him in any way he could. He could always depend on John.

John stared at Sherlock open mouthed.


	10. A Difficult Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John have a somewhat difficult conversation...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. It's been due to a two-week holiday, work and stuff, you know... real life! LOL  
> This chapter is dedicted to all of you lovely readers! Thanks for your continued support! Love you all! xxx

John stared at Sherlock with an open mouth for what seemed like a very long time. In reality it was only a matter of seconds, but to Sherlock is was as if time had been slowed down. The silence following his admission was uncomfortable and he could not maintain eye contact with John, so he looked away.

“John, you are doing a very acceptable impersonation of a goldfish,” he stated, breaking the silence. John immediately closed his mouth in response.

“Sherlock? Did I hear you right?” he asked. “Molly? I mean… _Molly_?”

“Yes,” he replied through gritted teeth, his eyes firmly fixed on his hand which he was flexing on the arm of the chair.

“Bloody hell… It’s just so… unbelievable!”

“Oh yes, because I’m a _machine_ aren’t I John? That’s what you called me once…”

“Yes, but that was when I thought you didn’t care about Mrs Hudson… When really you knew that it was a hoax… A hoax that YOU had arranged!”

“And you know why. You had to leave, that was the plan…”

“Yes the plan of… faking your own death!”

“Oh do you STILL have to go ON about that? I said I was sorry didn’t I?”

“But you made me think you were dead Sherlock!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes as they had had this conversation many times before.

“It was for your own safety! We’ve gone through this before! Can’t you just let it drop?”

“No Sherlock, I can’t. It was the most awful thing I’ve had to deal with in my life! And I didn’t have to go through it because it wasn’t real!”

“But you know I had to do it, to protect you.”

John sighed in exasperation. No matter how many times they discussed it, there was never any resolution. He would always get upset and Sherlock would be both apologetic and indignant at the same time. It always came to a stalemate.

“We’ve gotten slightly off topic haven’t we?”

“It would appear so. And I can’t say I'm not relieved at the deviation.”

“But you know we have to talk about it. You have to tell me more about what you are feeling. So I can…” he paused before continuing, “help you. Do you want me to help you Sherlock?”

Sherlock put his palms together and steepled his fingers beneath his chin, thinking for a moment before he responded. He had earlier come to the conclusion that John was the only person that could guide him through this difficult situation; he just had to take the next step and admit to John that he needed his assistance. It wasn’t an easy thing for him to do, to confess that he, the great Sherlock Holmes needed help. But it was John and he was the one person that he could ever admit such a thing to, no matter how painful it was.

“Yes John,” he said, almost whispering. “I want you to... _help_ me.”

He looked intensely into John’s concerned-looking face as he spoke and John broke into a warm smile.

“OK, that’s good. Tell me what has happened? There is something you’ve not told me.”

Sherlock took a deep breath and began to reveal the uncomfortable truth of his recent physical symptoms. He told John of the incident with Molly’s skirt and how he had looked at her. John had to suppress a fit of giggles as he imagined the scenario.

“Molly must have been very embarrassed.”

“Yes, she was, but I managed to alleviate her worries. It was fine. We left on good terms.”

“So you didn’t upset her?”

“No I most certainly did not!”

“Good, that’s good. Makes a change…”

“John, do shut up!”

“Alright, alright. Go on, what happened next?”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d seen. Her… underwear. I could smell her perfume on my robe, hear her voice in my head…”

“OK, well that’s…”

“I haven’t finished John!”

“Oh, sorry.”

“The combined stimuli resulted in a… physical reaction.”

John frowned, unsure of what Sherlock meant.

Sherlock replied with a dramatic look down towards his own crotch.

“I’m not sure what you’re trying to tell me Sherlock.”

“I had a PHYSICAL reaction… down THERE!” he said through gritted teeth, pointing a slender finger directly at his groin.

“Oh, you mean you had an erection?”

“Ah, the penny drops. Really you are slow sometimes John. Yes, I had one of _those_.”

“But that’s perfectly… I was going to say normal, but this is _you_ we’re talking about.”

“Yes, indeed,” he stated coldly.

“What happened next?”

“What do you _think_ happened next?”

“Well you wouldn’t want to give in to your... um... your... erm…”

“Penis, John. As a medical doctor you know the correct terminology for that part of a man’s anatomy and I'm surprised you find saying such a word embarrassing!”

John shifted in his seat, obviously uncomfortable talking about something he and Sherlock had never discussed before. They had never touched on the subject of such a personal nature. John had actually concluded that Sherlock couldn't have sexual urges, so he didn't talk about them.

“Alright then, you wouldn’t want to give into your penis!”

“Although it’s more commonly referred to as cock or prick…”

“Sherlock! Stop it!”

“Stop what?”

“You’re doing that thing you do!”

“What thing?”

John sighed again with annoyance. The conversation was more tricky than he could ever have imagined and he had experienced a lot of difficult exchanges with Sherlock over the years.

“Oh forget it. I assume you took a cold shower to calm yourself down.”

“Wrong!”

“What do you mean wrong? You mean you _didn’t_?”

“No I did not.”

“Well the Sherlock _I_ know would not give in easily to any physical urges.”

“Under normal circumstances, I would not. But he was being particularly persistent. We had an argument, albeit a very one-sided argument.”

“You. Had an argument. With your… cock?”

“Yes.”

John’s expression was priceless, it went from one of shock into a poor attempt at masking a smile.

“How can you _possibly_ have an argument with your…”

“I talked and it just sat there, unyielding… It wouldn't go down!”

“I can’t believe it… You actually had an argument with a part of your body?”

“You once had an argument with a chip and pin machine!”

“Yes but that was different!”

“How is it different? The machine couldn’t answer back to you could it?”

“We’ve gone off the subject again Sherlock! Just tell me, what happened? After the argument I mean.”

“I lost the argument.”

“You what?”

“I gave in John!”

“You mean you, Sherlock Holmes, of all people… had a… _wank_?”

Sherlock’s face contorted into an expression of disgust at the word that John had used.

“Yes, I… _masturbated_.”

“Bloody hell!” John gasped, doing the goldfish face again.


	11. Opening Up and Keeping Quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's conversation with John continues and Molly has a visitor...

John sat frozen in his seat. He couldn’t believe what he had just heard. Sherlock Holmes, his best friend, the most controlled, detached person he had ever known, acting more human than he had ever known him to behave. Of course their friendship had warmed over the years. Sherlock had started caring about people, admitting that he had friends, but this was something else. Sherlock was allowing his body to win over his mind, and John was worried that it was a dangerous thing. With Sherlock’s well-documented addictive personality, it could turn into another compulsion along with the work and cigarettes. John had never viewed Sherlock as a sexual creature, he had always been disconnected from that sort of thing, never questioning John about his exploits with various girlfriends and more recently his wife, not that he would want to have discussed those things with Sherlock; that would have been even more uncomfortable than the chat they were currently having.

Sherlock broke the silence first.

“I know it’s not ‘normal’ for me John, and I have to admit I’m concerned. I’ve told you before that it’s not my area and… I don’t know what to do.”

“Well what do you FEEL like doing?”

“I don’t know what I FEEL John; that is the problem! I’m not used to experiencing sentiment as you know all too well. Not to mention the physical manifestations that keep occurring. I managed to control my genitals for so long that I stopped having moments of physical arousal. And then suddenly I started losing control. I don’t know when it happened, it was a gradual thing, they just started happening!”

“And it was because of Molly? That they started happening?” John asked with his best compassionate expression.

“Yes, only Molly. I experimented…”

John was confused. “How did you experiment? What did you do?”

“I used other methods to see if anything else would stimulate me into a state of arousal.”

“You mean you looked at porn on the internet?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“It didn’t work.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Well that’s… good.”

“Good? Why is it good?”

“Well it means that you’ve not suddenly turned into some sort of crazed sex-addict.”

John’s comment was met with a stern death glare. He realised he would have to explain more fully.

“I mean to say that it suggests that your… experiences are attached to one person. That you don’t get aroused by every woman that you see.”

“That’s true. I had an encounter the other day that proved it.”

“An encounter? Who with?”

“HER…”

“Sherlock I’m confused. I wish you’d just spit it out.”

“The Woman John… THE WOMAN! I saw her… when I was working on the case of the noisy neighbour. Turns out she’s back in London and has returned to her old profession.” He winced as he touched his thigh; the wounds not yet fully healed from his meeting with Irene.

“What?” John gasped, noticing the look of pain on Sherlock’s face. “What did she do to you?”

“I won’t give you the details John, all I will say is that she tried to coax out of me what I have willingly revealed to you. But she tried a more physical method of interrogation.”

“You mean she beat you with the riding crop again?”

“Hmm…”

“But you didn’t reveal anything?”

“I most certainly did not. I wouldn’t want to share my innermost feelings with her!”

John smirked as he realised that Sherlock was confiding in him, when he would not divulge the same to Irene.

“What are you smirking for John?” Sherlock demanded.

“I’m just touched that you would open up to me like this.”

“Ah, sentiment from you now, right?”

“Yes,” he replied smiling warmly at his friend. “So you weren’t… stimulated by Irene at all?”

“No. Not one bit. She did nothing for me.”

“Again, that’s good.”

“No sadomasochistic tendencies?”

“I mean that your feelings are linked to Molly and Molly alone. But yes, it’s a relief to know that you don’t enjoy that kind of thing.”

“Why is it a relief? You don’t like that sort of thing?”

“I just don’t get it… and knowing you as well as I do, you would take it to the extreme!”

“I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about and I don’t want to know what you’re talking about!”

“Good. Because I’m NOT going to elaborate!”

Sherlock sighed as he rubbed his temples with his long dextrous fingers. They kept going off at a tangent, talking about things that did not exactly refer to his problem.

“John… What should I do about Molly?” he said, almost whispering.

“Well do you WANT a relationship with her?”

“I don’t know John. As I’ve never had one before, I guess it would be good to see what it’s like.”

“That is a bit not good.”

“What?”

“You shouldn’t start a relationship just to see what it’s like, it should be because you want to be with Molly.”

“But I do… I think…”

“Maybe you should spend some more time with her. I mean as friends? Then you can gauge how you feel about taking your relationship further. The last thing you want to do is upset her by being too forward. That would freak her out after all these years.”

“Why would it ‘freak her out?’” Sherlock asked, with a perplexed expression on his face.

“Because she’s fancied you for years and now suddenly you’re interested in her in the way she has always wanted you to be! She’s learned to accept that you will never be able to give her what she wants and is content to simply have you in her life as a friend.”

“What would I never be able to give her John?”

“Love, Sherlock. Love.”

***

Molly was in the lab cleaning up after performing an autopsy. Male, 75, died of old age, natural causes. Conclusion – no need to call Sherlock as he wouldn’t be interested. Also the body was too old to be of any interest to Sherlock for experimental purposes. Molly found herself slightly disappointed that the body had not been more exciting as it had been days since she had last seen Sherlock. She delighted at any excuse to be in the company of Sherlock, even if there was no chance that he would ever be what she wanted him to be. Yes, he had changed, he now considered her to be a friend, but she had resigned herself to the fact that it could never be anything more than that. In her dreams, he would take her in his arms and kiss her passionately with those perfect lips. She smiled to herself as she remembered those wonderful dreams where they were snuggled up on the couch covered in nothing but a bed sheet after a night of fantastic lovemaking. She was snapped from her daydreaming by someone entering the lab. She turned to look and saw a smartly dressed woman standing in the doorway. It was Irene, but Molly didn’t know as they had never met before.

“Doctor Hooper? Doctor Molly Hooper?” Irene asked.

“Yes. Who are you and what do you want?”

“I’m… Miss Atkins… Renee Atkins. I’d like to talk to you about Sherlock Holmes.”

“What for?” Molly asked, eyeing the woman with suspicion.

“I’m doing some research for a book,” Irene started to explain, closing the door and stepping towards Molly. “I want to set the record straight about Sherlock, to tell the truth because we both know that the truth needs to be told right?”

Molly felt an immediate distrust towards ‘Renee’ as she had experienced a similar encounter with Kitty Riley, the reporter. She had asked lots of prying questions regarding Sherlock, and had said a similar thing, that she wanted to tell the truth. But she did the exact opposite, she wrote nothing but lies, was working for Moriarty and helped destroy Sherlock’s reputation. For that Molly hated her and was glad her journalistic career was more or less ruined. No reputable newspaper would hire her and she was now resigned to writing trashy articles for cheap gossip magazines that were known for publishing lies. Since then Molly treated all reporters with caution and was very careful what she said to them.”

“You’re writing a book? Has Sherlock approved it?”

“He doesn’t have to. It’s an unofficial publication.”

“Well I’m not speaking to anybody involved in something that hasn’t been sanctioned by Sherlock.”

Irene smiled.

“What?” Molly asked, regarding the smile.

“I admire your loyalty, it’s very touching. And you were the one person he trusted enough to ask for help in faking his death. How did that happen?”

“I’m not answering any of your questions. Whatever I say you’ll twist it to make it mean whatever you want it to! Now please leave before I have to call security!”

“I can see why he likes you,” Irene said, smirking. “Fiercely loyal, just like John Watson. But John had to go and get married, leaving Sherlock all on his own. It would appear that you’re fast becoming an adequate substitute…”

“Get OUT!” Molly snapped and took a step towards Irene to show that she was serious. “Get out NOW! I have nothing more to say to you, so just LEAVE!”

“Oh you’re tougher than you look,” Irene crooned. “Alright, I’ll leave… but don’t think this is the last you’ve seen of me Doctor Hooper!”

And with that Irene left the lab, leaving Molly standing with clenched fists trying to hold in her anger and contempt. Little did Molly know what plans Irene had for both her and Sherlock…


	12. There's been a MURDER!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The body of a dead man brings Molly and Sherlock together again...

_**In the mortuary...** _

Molly was just about to leave the lab for the evening when a body was wheeled into the mortuary.  Cause of death was not apparent, so it would need a thorough investigation. She put her lab coat back on and unzipped the body bag. She had not seen Sherlock for days, she was still embarrassed about the skirt incident. She should forget about it, he had probably deleted the occurrence anyway, so she hoped. And it would look strange if she kept turning up at Baker Street just to see him. He would suspect something, although knowing Sherlock and his lack of social etiquette, he probably wouldn’t know why. She cleared her thoughts and got back to examining the corpse that lay before her.

‘Male, white, late 20’s, no sign of any external injuries… I’ll need to open him up to take a closer look…’ She sighed knowing that it was going to be a long night of overtime.

‘I’d run a toxicology report. I suspect it was poisoning, note the fingernails… Leukonychia striata…’ came a familiar voice. Molly looked up and saw Sherlock standing in the doorway. She always wondered how he managed to do that – sneaking up on her without a sound, like a cat… Once she had seen him, he dramatically swept into the mortuary, cast off his overcoat and scarf, draping them over a stool.

‘Suspicious death, body still warm, I should have known you’d turn up,’ she said with a smile.

‘Well the suspicious ones are always more FUN!’ he said, moving closer, widening his eyes on the word ‘fun’.

‘Wait… the body just got here! How did you know about the Mee’s Lines?’ Molly exclaimed, giving him an inquiring look as she held up one of the corpse’s hands.

‘I was at the crime scene of course…’ he replied, smirking. ‘The body was found in a house, the police got an anonymous tip-off which I happened to intercept. You might want to check the stomach contents too…’ he remarked, peering down at the body.

‘Obviously if he’d been poisoned it’s more likely to be from something he ate…’

‘Correct Molly,’ he stated, looking up at her, flashing a warm smile. ‘And there is something even more bizarre…’

‘What?’

‘Not a scrap of food was found throughout the entire house. But the kitchen and appliances were all well-used… Worn handles and knobs; an oven that needed a good dose of ‘Mr Muscle’ and dirty dishes in the sink…’

‘So somebody got rid of all possible food evidence?’

‘Cupboards and fridge were completely bare…’

‘They removed everything, even if it wasn’t poisoned to try make it look like a natural death? Haven’t these people heard of autopsies?’

‘Correct again Molly… and obviously we’re dealing with a murderer who’s an idiot. Now are you going to open him up or do I have to wait all night?’

Sherlock remained as Molly performed the autopsy. He watched her carefully, interested in everything she did from the Y-incision to removing all the vital organs for inspection. There were signs of organ failure, particularly the liver and kidneys.

‘That’s indicative of poisoning - necrotic cell damage…’ he commented as she inspected and weighed the damaged organs.

‘Yes, but it doesn’t tell us who did the poisoning…’

‘Would you like to help me find out Molly?’ he asked her, his heart beating faster. He was shocked at himself as he had not planned to invite her on the case.

‘Sherlock? Are you asking me out… on a… CASE?’ Her eyes were wide and her mouth gaped open in surprise.

‘I do believe I am…’ he replied with a bewildered expression. He turned to pick up his coat and scarf, putting them on quickly. ‘Well?’ he asked, turning around to face her. ‘Do you want to help me or not?’

‘Um… well… yes! Yes of course!’

‘As soon as you get the tox results, text me. I have to go and see Lestrade…’

And with a dramatic sweep of his coat, he smiled, winked and left the room, leaving Molly standing bewildered, wringing her hands. It took a moment for her to compose herself before getting back to work. She had to body to stitch up and the samples to prepare for the toxicology tests.

***

_**Meanwhile in Lestrade’s office…** _

Lestrade sat at his desk, Sherlock pacing up and down the room.

‘Sherlock! You can’t just saunter into a crime scene anymore! You have to wait for me first!’

Sherlock sighed. ‘You know that the first 24 hours are the most important! If the crime scene had waited for you all the pertinent clues may have disappeared!’

‘Stop it Sherlock! The house would have been perfectly preserved. We have a trained, PROFESSIONAL forensics team to collect evidence.’

Sherlock stopped pacing, and gave Lestrade a look of thunder. ‘Are you implying that I’m NOT professional?’ he barked.

‘I didn’t say that! You just have to remember that we have to follow protocol! Which means certain procedures must be followed. You don’t want to mess things up again do you? Cases thrown out because of evidence you gathered because they weren’t bagged and tagged in the right way?’

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, thought about it and closed it again.

‘No… I just want to bring the criminals to justice Lestrade, you know that!’

‘OK, we have an agreement then. In future wait for me to give you the all-clear before you go waltzing into a crime scene.’

‘Lestrade! We’re wasting TIME! Are you going to… _invite_ me to _assist_ with this investigation or not?’

Lestrade slumped in his chair. ‘Yes I’m inviting you… We’ve got nothing… We’ve interviewed neighbours, family members and nothing… Nobody heard or saw anything, we have no suspects, the man’s estranged wife has an airtight alibi…’

‘Good. Now that we’ve established that you have nothing, it’s time for me to dig up something!’

At that moment Sherlock’s phone beeped. He took it from his pocket and read the message.

‘What is it?’ Lestrade enquired.

‘Molly has found something… I need to get back to the morgue…’

***

**_Back in the mortuary..._ **

Molly was just finishing stitching up the body. She looked up as Sherlock entered.

‘So? What have you got for me Molly?’ he asked, striding right up to her, so close that she thought his arm might touch hers. He put a file down on the body and looked into her eyes as he waited for a response.

‘I found a needle mark…’

‘Where? We examined the entire body!’

‘Big toe Sherlock,’ she said pointing to the man’s tagged toe.

‘Oh it’s one of _those_ …’ he moved to inspect the toe with his magnifier. ‘Mr Philips was obviously asleep and injected in a part of his body that was easily accessible. Some people sleep with their feet poking out of the covers…’ He spun around to look at her, ‘Do you do that Molly?’

‘D-do w-what?’

‘Sleep with your feet sticking out from under the duvet?’

‘Um… no, I don’t,’ she replied, with a baffled look. Why would he ask her such a thing? ‘And you said Mr Philips? Has the body been identified? I haven’t received the ID file yet.’

‘The file is right there,’ he motioned to the file resting on the body’s legs. ‘Lestrade took care of the identification, interviewed neighbours and family. I suspect some family member will be here soon to make a formal identification…’ he spoke as he looked at the toe from every angle. ‘It’s quite a clean puncture mark… he mustn’t have struggled.’

‘Well if he could have had sleep paralysis if he were in a deep sleep…’

Sherlock looked up at her and smiled. ‘Good deduction Molly!’

‘So what now?’

‘I think we need to revisit the scene of the crime.’

‘We?’ Molly said, sounding surprised.

‘Yes? I asked you to help me? You haven’t forgotten already have you?’

‘Oh… I didn’t think you were being serious.’

‘If I weren’t serious, I wouldn’t have asked you, would I Molly?’

‘No, I guess not.’

‘And stop wringing your hands, it’s annoying!’

Molly looked down at her hands and realised she had been doing it again. She always did it when she was uncomfortable and nervous and was embarrassed that Sherlock had noticed. But of course he had noticed, he ALWAYS noticed, he couldn’t help it. She put her hands down at her sides.

‘So you want me to come to the crime scene with you?’

‘Yes Molly. Would you like the request in writing?’ he asked, smirking.

‘Stop teasing me Sherlock Holmes! It’s not nice!’ she reprimanded, giving him a light punch on the arm.

‘Sorry. You know I can’t help it, you make it so easy.’

‘I’ll just grab my coat…’ she said before dashing off to her office.

***

**_Some time later, at the crime scene…_ **

Sherlock was standing in the middle of the living room of an old town house, deep in thought. Molly wasn’t sure what to do, so she walked around looking at various ornaments and photographs that were on display.

‘Sherlock? What are we looking for?’ she decided to ask, getting tired of the uncomfortable silence.

‘Ssssh! Thinking!’

‘But Sherlock, what could we possibly find that the forensics team haven’t already?’

‘Oh they always miss something… Like dismissing the estranged wife too quickly.’

‘But she has an airtight alibi?’

‘There’s no such thing as an airtight alibi. She could have always paid a hired assassin to do her dirty work… Hmmmm… Sounds plausible don’t you think Molly? Insurance policy, the avoidance of a messy divorce…’

‘Yes… and maybe she had a lover…’

‘What makes you say that Molly?’

‘Just a hunch…’

‘And what does your _hunch_ tell you Molly?’ He turned towards her, stooping, his face inches from hers. She could feel his breath on her face like a soothing breeze. It made her heart race having him so close to her, reminding her of the Christmas party when he kissed her cheek.

‘Um… it tells me that an estranged wife would very likely have a lover, possibly one that could be mentioned in the divorce proceedings. She doesn’t want him to be involved. Or perhaps he doesn’t want to be involved. So, to avoid the divorce, get all the money, the lover kills the husband for her. The wife has an alibi, possibly gives her lover an alibi at the same time…’

‘Oh Molly!’ he groaned in his deep, velvety smooth voice.

‘What? What is it?’ She looks up at him, stunned.

‘I love it when you deduce,’ he crooned with a warm smile.

Molly opened her mouth to reply but no sound came out. Not that she knew what she wanted to say, she was too shocked. She was even more taken aback when Sherlock’s hand softly stroked her cheek, his lips moving closer to hers…


	13. The Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's body betrays him again... it has told his brain to sod off and it is in charge now!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken me so long to update. It's been that difficult first kiss (and chapter 13! :O )  
> I was tormented by Molly as she kept changing her mind on how she wanted to react! I hope she chose the right one!
> 
> I would like to say a big thank you to Norcturnias for being a wonderful friend! And for your persistent reminders that I need to write another chapter... You knew I'd get there in the end!
> 
> And thank you to everyone that has commented/messaged me. I have a bad feeling that I may have missed replying to some of you AGES ago... sorry if I have! Big hugs and kisses to you all! xxx

“Sherlock? What are you…” Molly started to say, but her sentence was interrupted by the contact of Sherlock’s lips against hers. She trembled all over, her legs wobbled so much she thought she would collapse, but Sherlock steadied her with two strong hands on her shoulders. His lips gently moved, for a moment she was too stunned to reciprocate but soon she realised what was happening and responded. After what seemed a long time he pulled back with a thoughtful look on his face.

“Well… that wasn’t unpleasant at all…” he mused.

“What do you mean not unpleasant?” Molly snapped.

“I mean it was… um… nice?”

“Nice? NICE? What the hell was that Sherlock? What are you playing at?” she blasted at him in a louder voice than she intended.

“Playing at? I don’t understand…” He was completely confused both by her reaction and what he had actually just done. 

“Sherlock… you just KISSED me… Y-you-you’ve never done that before!” Her voice was back to a more acceptable level but her nervous stutter had returned. 

“I know… I’ve never kissed anybody before… Well not like THAT… Did I do it wrong? Is that why you’re upset with me?”

“No you didn’t do it wrong. It’s just… why? Why me? And why now?” She paused for a moment as she realised what he had just revealed. “You’ve never kissed ANYBODY properly before?” Molly was in a state of shock, she could not understand why Sherlock had suddenly kissed her. Even though she realised he had been warming to her recently, inviting her on an investigation, she never dreamt that he would actually make a move on her. All the years she had known him, lusted after him, he had never really given her hope of something more than a platonic relationship. He was Sherlock, he didn’t know how to interact in intimate situations, or so she thought. The kiss had been rather good, especially for his first, but of course Sherlock was good at everything he did.

“I don’t know Molly… I… um…”

That was another new experience. Sherlock Holmes lost for words. Something was definitely wrong, he was almost blushing, avoiding making eye contact with her.

“Sherlock? What’s wrong? You don’t appear to be quite yourself right now…”

“No… I’m not… THINGS have been happening to me lately…”

“What things?” Molly asked in a soft voice now, gently trying to coax the truth from Sherlock.

“I’ve been having… FEELINGS!” He said the word as if it were something abhorrent. “Emotions Molly! Me!”

“Oh… wow…”

“Is that all you can say? Oh wow?” he scoffed, sounding more like his normal self.

“Well it’s quite an amazing admission from you Sherlock. You never really show much emotion, except in extraordinary circumstances.”

“No I don’t. I try to keep myself distant from it. It interferes with my thought processes… But it’s been so difficult lately and… I’ve been lapsing…”

“Lapsing? What do you mean?”

“Do I really have to spell it out for you?” he asked pointedly.

“Well… yes because I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“If I say I don’t want to talk about it, you’re just going to keep on and on at me aren’t you? It’s what John used to do when he knew I was keeping something from him. He’d keep bringing it up until I caved in and told him.”

“Well it’s because we care about you Sherlock and sometimes talking to someone helps…” She stepped forward and carefully placed a hand on his arm. “A problem shared is a problem halved?”

Sherlock looked down at her hand through half-closed eyes. He took a moment to muster up the courage to tell her everything he had been experiencing but… he was afraid; another emotion that he was not all too fond of. He, Sherlock Holmes was never afraid! He had stared down the barrel of a gun, fought with a sword wielding maniac, had a fist fight with a giant and jumped off a building. But when it came to confessing to Molly that he had been pleasuring himself whilst thinking of her, he was terrified. His brain was racing trying to figure out what to do and how to overcome this uncomfortable situation.

“Maybe we should sit down Molly,” he suggested, gesturing to the couch. She hovered for a moment before sitting down and he positioned himself beside her.

“Sherlock? Please, just tell me what’s going on. I want to help, if I can…”

“You may be the only person that can…” he muttered under his breath.

Molly looked back at him, wondering what could possibly be going on in that brain of his. She could tell that he looked worried and she had only seen him look like that once before – that night at Bart’s when he came to her for help and told her he was not OK.

“Like I said Molly… I’ve been having lapses… Physical lapses. I had them when I was younger and I used to deal with them, but as I got older I learned to suppress them.”

“Sherlock?” Molly interrupted, with a confused expression. “What do you mean by ‘physical lapses’?”

“Arousal Molly!” he blurted out. “Can I make it any plainer than that?”

“Oh!” she exclaimed in response. She had not expected THAT!

“It just started happening again and I couldn’t control it! It tried to… but no… It wouldn’t listen!”

“You had a conversation with it didn’t you?” Molly asked, after having a perfect mental image of Sherlock having a conversation with his penis, so accurate, it was as if she had been there.

“Yes. I talked at it, but it remained… rigid…”

“What suddenly caused these… lapses?”

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably on the couch. To share his most intimate, personal experiences with someone was still not an easy thing for him to do. It had been a struggle to open up to John, even after all the years they had known each other, and with Molly it was not any easier. He tried to tell himself that he could be honest with Molly, he could trust her, as he had done before but there was always some force that made it difficult for him to voice what he wanted to.

Sherlock looked away, glanced back to meet her eyes and then back to a picture hanging on the wall. He remained silent, unable to bring himself to admit the truth to her.

“Sherlock? Tell me!” she said with a more insistent tone of voice.

“I said it to you once before Molly and I’ll say it again…” he paused for a moment before continuing and turning back to face her… “You…”

There was silence for what seemed an eternity as Molly took in what he had just said to her.

“ME?” she finally squeaked in shock.

“Yes… you, that’s what I said, weren’t you listening?”

“Yes I was listening, but what you’re saying is so unbelievable Sherlock. This can’t be happening!”

“That’s what I told myself…”

“Sherlock! Stop it!”

“Stop what?”

“Teasing me! That’s what all of this is, isn’t it? You’re just playing with me because you don’t have John around anymore and don’t have anybody to entertain you!”

“No Molly, it’s not like that at all!”

“Oh? Isn’t it?” she snapped, not convinced.

“No Molly it’s NOT! This isn’t easy for me and you know it. The one thing I don’t excel at is being sociable… and intimate relationships are definitely not my area. It’s like my body is betraying me again; making me do things I wouldn’t normally do… I didn’t mean to kiss you but my body made me do it… It fought hard against my brain and won… because…” He trailed off as it suddenly dawned on him why he had kissed her.

“Because what Sherlock? Please tell me.”

He took a deep breath and continued.

“It was what I really wanted to do…”

His eyes returned to the picture on the wall.


End file.
